


all i want for christmas

by freloux



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28074846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: “I can be into writers. Especially if they’re cute.”
Relationships: Lenore/HG Wells
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	all i want for christmas

“I have a crush on him.”

Edgar wasn’t paying attention because he was busy writing. Which, nothing new, but this time he was super lost in thought, murmuring about ravens and stanzas and _bor_ ing.

Lenore cleared her throat but his pen continued to skritch, skritch across - is that parchment, my dude? When that didn’t work she decided to make her voice a little louder and more dramatic. She even put a hand to her forehead for extra effect. “I said, I have a crush on him.”

Edgar finally looked up, quizzical. “Who?” His pen hovered above the parchment, spilling ink onto what used to be a neatly-written stanza.

“H.G. That super cute nerd guy you had over the other day.”

“You? Interested in a writer?” Edgar scoffed and returned to his poetry.

Now Lenore was seriously offended. She hopped up onto Edgar’s desk and kicked her feet against the side, which she knew bothered him. “I can be into writers. Especially if they’re cute.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Edgar asked.

“Throw a party,” Lenore said in her slowest, most _duh_ tone of voice. “Invite him over so I can win his heart. It’s Christmas so you have the perfect excuse.”

Edgar sighed. “Fine. But stop messing with my stuff.” He pulled his papers closer to himself as if hoarding them.

“Deal,” Lenore said cheerfully, jumping off his desk. Ooh, this was going to be fun.

***

She’d really thought Edgar was the total Scrooge type but when she reminded him that they could also invite Annabelle and innocently suggested mistletoe he became incoherent and threw himself into party planning. Lenore and her brother actually enjoyed decorating the house together: garlands down the staircase railing, buying eggnog, getting a wreath, and digging old ornaments out of storage. He even revealed his favorite Christmas carol but made her promise not to tell anyone. Lenore took it upon herself to write all the invitations. She bought fancy ink in red and green and painstakingly wrote out the cursive. When Edgar walked past her hunched over the kitchen table with the envelopes and letters all spread out he raised an eyebrow. She shooed him away and reminded him of all the times _he_ had important writing projects. This was hers.

***

The day of the party Lenore put on her favorite “getting ready” playlist and smiled to herself. She liked this part almost as much as mingling and merry-making. Just the anticipation of the thing. She floated dreamily around her attic, putting her hair up in curlers and reading fashion magazines for makeup advice. Nothing too dramatic, she decided. Just simple and - wow, that look was stunning. Red lipstick, maybe a little cat-eye. Lenore had a brief moment of panic when she tried to decide what to wear and remembered that because of the rules of ghost-ness, blah blah blah, she had only the white dress. But something told her that H.G. understood.

Someone knocked at the door. It was Edgar: “Are you ready yet? The guests are about to arrive!” His exasperation seeped into her room which was so not the vibe she needed right then. Lenore looked at herself in the mirror. She had on a bright green face mask. A wicked smile curved itself across her face. She just couldn’t resist so she floated to the door and opened it. “Yes?”

Intended effect achieved. Edgar gasped and clutched a hand to his chest. “My god! What has befallen you, Lenore?”

“Nothing, because I’m bestanding,” Lenore giggled. “Now leave me alone. I just have to wash this off and put my makeup on.”

***

What a lot of people don’t understand about ghosts is that they can make themselves corporeal if they concentrate enough. Lenore didn’t make it a habit; Edgar was used to her floating around anyway. But tonight: tonight was special.

Lenore walked carefully down the stairs, one foot in front of the other, moving slowly to adjust into, well, not floating. _Are humans always this sluggish?_ she wondered. _No wonder Edgar looks so sleepy all the time!_ She paused for a moment on the landing and relished the noise of the party. The clinking glasses, the gentle, jazzy Christmas music playing on the phonograph, even the wind outside bringing the promise of snow was all so exciting. She couldn’t wait to see him. That would make tonight even more perfect. A romantic moment when he finally noticed her -

She must have been concentrating a little too hard, or maybe just distracted by her crush, because on her way into the living room she bumped into the side table with all the drinks. One of the bottles jiggled precariously and then crashed to the floor, spilling red wine all over the front of her dress. All the guests turned and stared at her.

Lenore uttered a mild oath. Ok, well _now_ he definitely noticed her. She wanted to melt into the floor and then remembered that that was something she could actually do. So she dematerialized herself immediately and floated into the kitchen, blushing furiously as she rifled through the cupboards for something, anything to get the stain out. This was her only dress, she couldn’t be floating around with a tacky memorial of her clumsiness.

“Knock knock.” Lenore turned around. Oh no. It’s him. H.G. smiled gently and stepped closer. “Need help?”

“Yes,” Lenore replied. She hated the way her voice comes out so - soft, rather than coy and flirtatious. It was a tone she wasn’t used to at all. It felt real somehow in a way she wasn’t ready to confront just yet.

“Well, let’s just look for some salt, okay? It’s good that you’re addressing this immediately otherwise the stain might be a little too permanent for your liking.”

“I think the salt is in there,” Lenore said. She gestured to the cupboard to the left of the sink.

“Perfect.” H.G. took the salt and sprinkled a thick layer over the stain. “Now, you don’t want to rub too hard.” They made eye contact for a weighty moment. Lenore blushed and looked away as H.G. cleared his throat. “Ahem. Unfortunately we’re going to be here for awhile while it absorbs.”

“Unfortunately?” Lenore asked, voice crinkled with worry.

H.G. immediately realized his mistake and corrected himself. “The only unfortunate thing is that it takes so long for the salt to work. I am delighted to have the opportunity to spend so much time with you while we wait. Besides, the party was getting a little busy for me.”

“Fair enough.” Lenore sat down on the kitchen floor and leaned against the wall. He sat down next to her and smiled.

Talking to H.G. was so easy. Lenore was used to being a total party girl - she always had been, before and after her _trés tragique_ demise - but this was different. Good different. They just chilled on the floor in her kitchen, talking about books, of course, but also life stuff: who they are, where they came from, what happened to Lenore (complete with a mini charades performance). Lenore totally busted a gut laughing when H.G. told her what his real name is, this big bold laugh that just bubbled out of her, impossible to contain. He smiled and started cackling too and then they were just laughing because they’re laughing, which in Lenore’s opinion is one of the best things in the world.

“Hey, the stain’s gone,” H.G. observed after a while. He gestured to her dress.

Lenore looked down. Sure enough, the salt had absorbed all the wine. He asked where the towels were and returned with a small blue one that had a fairisle pattern. H.G. gently wiped away the salt into his hand and brushed it off into the sink.

Lenore was inexplicably sad. “Guess it’s back to the party then.”

She started getting up to leave but H.G. tugged her back down to sit next to him. “We don’t have to, you know.” He looked at her with a serious expression. “You could stay.”

“I could,” Lenore said. Her voice was soft again. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” He smiled, shy, which she returned.

She swallowed as if to dislodge the words stuck in her throat. “Um,” she began. Where did she have to get so brave all of a sudden? “I think there’s mistletoe in the house somewhere. So I think that means I have to kiss you.”

“You could,” H.G. said. “I would like that.”

“Me too.”

It was something sweet and innocent. He tasted vaguely minty. _Someone had a candy cane,_ Lenore thought, delirious, before she stopped thinking at all.


End file.
